We've been fucking for nearly three months. Today, he fucked me twice. This evening, after strapping me with his belt until I cried, it was over his desk; his hips grinding into the mulberry marks. I have just come out of the shower, where he was slightly more benevolent but my breasts were kneaded into the the cold porcelain and my head was held forcibly skyward nonetheless.
I am tracing the welts and bruises, admiringly, in front of the bedroom mirror and listening to him brush his teeth. I let him beat and bond me; I have crawled and cried for him but I know he wants more.
I slip into his bed and conceal my nude body under the covers as I watch him stride through the room to a chest of drawers, before he turns to face me.
I curl my leg over the top of the duvet and he snatches my ankle, snapping a cuff around it. I seize it back and roll over to look at him, looming at the foot of the bed. The restraint maintains its clutch.
'No. I'm tired.' I say, my eyes narrowing in challenge.
He reaches over the bed's base and a paw-like hand grabs my calf, dragging me down the sheets like an old Christmas tree.
'You can sleep once you've told me which way you want to be cuffed: on your belly or on your back?' He replies, evenly.
Panic and nausea ripple through me; I know he's showing me that I'm captured. I think I want this but I am nineteen and scared.
'I asked you a question: answer it.' He snarls.
My mouth is paralysed but I slowly twist my body until I am lying prone again.
He tugs at my ankle and begins to secure it to the bedpost but, again, I bolt. I try to claw and wriggle back up to the pillows but a dead weight immobilises me. When we're upright, he feels twice my height and, now, on top of me, I am reminded he has triple my strength. His arms cover mine and his hands encircle my wrists. His stomach crushes my abused flesh. I can feel his unyielding cock nudging my slit.
I throw my head back, desperately trying to topple him. He responds by releasing my arm and pressing my head into the mattress. My emancipated limb flails behind me, attempting to strike or scratch him. My other arm is freed as both his hands snap around my neck and squeeze, the force of his vexed body depressing me further into the bed.
'It's futile fighting me, little slut.' He hisses into my ear.
His fingers flex around my throat and I'm starting to feel faint. One of my legs slips from under his and kicks upwards and backwards, despairingly. He laughs, mercilessly, his grip resolute.
I thrash as I feel my energy sapping and my consciousness ebbing away.
'You are mine. I own you.' He draws each word out slowly. His hands relax around my neck.
